


Overpowered

by Alipeeps



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Electrocution, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 08:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15577953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alipeeps/pseuds/Alipeeps
Summary: Someone is killing androids by electrocuting them. Hank and Connor are on the case, but the hunt for the killer goes horribly wrong, leaving Hank in a race against time to keep Connor alive.





	Overpowered

**Author's Note:**

> As per my other DBH fics, I have theorised that DPD must have their own department responsible for repairs and maintenance for their androids and in my fics this department is called Cybernetic Support Services - known as CSS.

Hank had been working with Connor long enough now to have become accustomed to his various quirks so when his partner tilted his head slightly and blinked rapidly for a second or two just as Hank was ordering himself a coffee, he knew what was coming. 

“Shit. Another one?”

Connor nodded. “The call just came in. Attack on an android in Highland Park.”

Hank grimaced. Man couldn’t even get a coffee in peace. “Better make that coffee to go,” he told the barista.

“Is it our guy?” he asked Connor.

“It seems likely.” His partner’s gaze was unfocused, staring into space as he concentrated on the information streaming in through his wireless connection. “The officer on scene reports the body shows signs of electrical burns and…” He snapped back to reality abruptly, his eyes meeting Hank’s excitedly. “Lieutenant, there’s a witness! They interrupted the attack!”

“Holy shit! If the killer was interrupted during an attack he might not have had chance to get far! He could still be in the area!” Hank fumbled out his wallet and slapped a couple of bills on the counter, calling out “Forget the coffee! Sorry!” and sprinted out of the coffee shop.

Connor was already starting the engine by the time Hank slid into the passenger seat. “Hit the lights!” he ordered. The strobe of the light unit on the dash turned the grey drizzle of late afternoon red and blue as Connor pulled the car smoothly out into traffic and hit the accelerator, hard.

**********

They pulled up at the crime scene to find just one officer on site, a rookie named Peterson. The young patrolman breathed a visible sigh of relief as they exited the car, greeting them with a nod.

“Lieutenant.” Hank was aware of the quick uncertain glance at Connor and found himself gritting his teeth. It had been over a year since the revolution, months since Connor had been officially employed by the DPD and assigned the rank of lieutenant, and yet some people still acted weird around him, weren’t sure how to address him, or, like this kid, just skipped speaking to him at all and communicated through Hank. It pissed Hank off.

It was water off a duck’s back to Connor though – or at least that was the impression he gave - especially when he was focused on a case. He barely gave the patrolman a glance, leaving Hank to get the necessary details while he headed straight to where the body still lay. The crime scene was fresh, real fresh. Peterson had put up digital barriers across the entrance to the alleyway but that was about all. CSI weren’t on-site yet and a small crowd of onlookers was already gathered, gawking at the tragedy.

“Peterson.” Hank acknowledged the kid’s greeting gruffly. “What do you got?”

Peterson flipped open his notebook. “Attack happened maybe 15 minutes ago. The victim is a model AV500, goes by the name of Max. Mrs Mahmood here,” he gestured at a middle-aged woman hovering uncertainly nearby, “was on her way to the grocery store and she uh…” he frowned at his notepad, “she heard a scream from the alleyway and saw the victim being electrocuted. The killer ran off when she screamed. She called the police and I was only a couple of blocks away so I was first here.”

Hank felt his stomach tighten. 15 minutes. They were close this time, real close. There was a good chance the killer hadn’t had chance to get far. Might even have left a trail that Connor could track…

“You clear the scene?”

“Sorry?” Peterson looked confused. Jesus. Kid was green as fuck.

“Jesus Christ, Peterson, did you clear the fucking scene? You arrived only minutes after the attack. Did you check and make sure the killer’s not still around?!”

“I… I…” Peterson paled. “I didn’t think…” He looked around wildly. “I secured the scene and checked the victim’s identity and I got the witness’ statement… I…”

Hank shook his head in disgust. The kid was here just minutes after the attack. The killer had probably still been in the area. Best chance they’d had to catch this guy and Peterson hadn’t cleared the damn scene. 

“You get a description at least?” he growled. 

“Umm, yeah… I…” the kid fumbled with his notepad and Hank had to bite back the urge to snatch it from him and read it himself. “She didn’t see much… it all happened real quick. She heard the scream and when she looked she saw a man… about the same height as the victim… dark hair… she thinks? He had some kind of stick in his hand and he was holding it to the victim’s chest. She said there was a flickering light, like sparks, and a kind of burning smell. She screamed and the killer startled and ran away, down the alleyway. The victim fell down and Mrs Mahmood called 911.”

Hank nodded thoughtfully. “Where’s that alleyway go?”

“It comes out on the other side of the block, on Buena Vista.”

Hank wanted to ask why Peterson hadn’t called for back-up to secure the other end of the alley, canvas the area, but he suspected the answer was only gonna make him more mad so his bit his tongue and went to find Connor.

The alley was about 10 foot wide and ran between two rows of businesses, harbouring clumps of dumpsters along with the usual litter and garbage. 30 foot in or so it narrowed, dumpsters giving way to a series of fire escapes. It was gloomy, darker than out on the street, and Hank looked up to see the upper stories overhanging the ground level, blocking out all but a narrow strip of gloomy overcast sky. 

The body was about 15 foot from the entrance, half hidden behind a large rusted dumpster. Connor was crouched beside him and Hank sincerely hoped he’d arrived late enough to miss any licking of evidence. He peered over Connor’s shoulder.

“What do we got?”

“Definitely the same killer.” Connor pointed to the charred fabric on the victim’s chest, right over where the thirium pump regulator was located. Hank didn’t need to look closer to know that the chassis beneath would be equally blackened. “High amperage current applied directly to the thirium pump regulator, resulting in its complete destruction. There is also significant thermal damage to the thirium pump itself and to various other components in the thoracic cavity. Death was almost instantaneous.”

Hank nodded. “Eye witness reports seeing the killer holding some kind of stick to the victim’s chest.”

Connor looked thoughtful. 

“The injuries are identical in every case. Seven victims, all electrocuted, all of them killed by an application of high amperage current directly to the thirium pump regulator, resulting in these same injuries.”

He looked up at Hank. “A taser couldn’t do this. It lacks the necessary precision. We’re looking at some kind of stun gun or…” he frowned, “.. .or cattle prod?”

“Cattle prod. That would fit with the stick the witness said she saw.”

“It would have to be highly modified to produce the kind of charge we are looking at,” Connor mused. “But why? Why go to all the trouble of building that kind of weapon? Why not use a taser and attack from a distance?”

Hank thought about it. “Maybe…” he murmured, “maybe because he _needs_ something more precise. Maybe the location of the injuries is the key.”

He thought about it, not liking where this train of thought was leading. “Androids are built with a certain level of surge protection, right? Failsafes and stuff in case of a power surge or whatever?”

Connor nodded, rising to his feet. “Surge protectors are built-in as standard and the plasteel chassis is designed to act as a Faraday cage, enabling the charge to earth itself without damaging the interior components.”

Hank grimaced. “The kind of current he’s using… would it be fatal to an android if it hit somewhere other than the regulator?”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Possibly not.” He titled his head, his expression distant as he made calculations or ran simulations or whatever the hell it was he did. “There would be a _lot_ of damage, the extent of which would depend on the exact location where the current was applied. But this level of charge would not be consistently fatal to an android … unless applied directly to the regulator.” 

“So it’s a safe bet our killer knows that. And that’s why he’s built himself a weapon where he can apply the charge exactly where it will do the most damage. He’s not taking any chances. He wants to kill his victims. Every time.”

“These deaths are premeditated.” Connor agreed solemnly.

Hank grunted. “But are his victims?” He looked down at the still, silent body of the AV500 – Max - his features slack and still in death, his eyes staring sightlessly. “Are they just opportunistic or is he choosing them? And if so, how?”

Connor was looking around the alleyway, a slight frown on his face as he pondered the question. “There is no discernable pattern to the choice of victims as yet,” he stated. “They are different models, different dates and places of production, different jobs, resident in different areas of the city. I haven’t found any one factor that links them.”

“But that weapon of his isn’t exactly discrete,” Hank added. “He can’t just be wandering the streets toting a 2 foot souped-up cattle prod.”

“It would also require a significant power-source.” Connor was still scanning the alleyway and it occurred to Hank that he probably actually _was_ scanning, using all that fancy tech that allowed him to spot any evidence they – or Peterson – might have missed. “A battery large enough to provide that kind of charge would be heavy… in order for the weapon to be mobile, he’d probably have to carry it in some kind of bag, a backpack maybe…”

His eyes narrowed and he began to move further into the alleyway, head turning from side to side as he scanned. Hank moved with him, picking up on his train of thought. “And something that heavy and bulky is gonna make running from the scene of a crime real difficult…” he growled, pulling his gun from his holster.

“And if you spend that much time and effort building the perfect weapon…” Connor said quietly. He came to a stop near where the alleyway narrowed, his attention focusing on a large dumpster that was angled out slightly from the wall.

“You’re not gonna want to leave it behind,” Hank finished. He raised his gun, keeping his elbows soft, his grip firm. 

He stepped forward carefully, very aware of Connor close at his shoulder. His partner was unarmed. Not that he needed a gun to be extremely effective – he was fast and he was strong, far more so than any human officer. But congress, still nervous about what could so easily have been an armed uprising last year, was dragging its heels on passing legislation allowing androids to own or use firearms. Even for the very few androids – Connor still being the only one working as a detective – that had chosen to go into law enforcement. It ground Hank’s gears but until the politicians got their collective asses in gear, he couldn’t do shit about it.

He’d told Connor time and again that until he was allowed to carry he should stay back and let him lead but Connor had never been great at doing what he was told even before he became a deviant. So Hank made sure to position himself in front of his partner as he carefully edged towards the dumpster.

“Anybody back there?” Hank called out. He didn’t really expect that the killer was just gonna give themselves up but it never hurt to try.

“Lieutenant…” Connor’s voice was tight with concern.

He took another step forward, keeping his weapon trained on the dumpster. Another step, craning his neck to try and see around the rusted, pockmarked metal to the space behind. For a moment he thought that he and Connor were wrong, that the killer wouldn’t have been foolish enough to hang around, or to come back, for his weapon with the police still on the scene. But then everything seemed to happen at once: the dumpster exploded outward with a loud, clattering rumble, he was briefly aware of a face twisted into a grimace of rage and a long pole jabbing at him from out of the shadows, and a hand – Connor’s hand – on his shoulder pushed him hard, making him stumble.

He staggered, trying to catch himself, dropping his aim as his arms instinctively flailed for balance. And then, before he could right himself properly, there came a dreadful, metallic-sounding scream and his blood froze in his veins.

“Connor!” 

He swung his gun around to aim at the killer, still trying to plant his feed solidly enough to get a decent shooting stance, and was horrified to see Connor frozen in place, his body rigid and shaking, his face contorted in agony as he screamed, a sound at once terrifyingly human and jarringly artificial as his voice fragmented into layers of static and screeching feedback. The killer had his improvised weapon jammed into the right side of Connor’s chest and the fabric where it touched was already black and smoking, sparks jumping fitfully from the point of contact.

Hank didn’t hesitate. The guy was killing Connor. He fired, two shots in quick succession, aiming for the centre of the chest. The killer dropped like a stone, and Connor fell with him, toppling backwards to hit the ground with a far too heavy thud. His scream cut off as the weapon lost contact with his chest, leaving Hank’s ears ringing in the sudden silence.

“Connor!”

Hank ran forward, his gun still trained on the killer, daring to cast only the quickest of glances over at Connor, fighting down the rising panic in his chest as he moved to secure the assailant. The force of the bullets had thrown the man backwards into the dumpster and he lay half slumped against it, his weapon lying on the ground near his outstretched hand. Hank didn’t dare touch the damn thing, didn’t know what parts of it were live and which not, but it quickly became apparent that that wasn’t going to be a problem. Hank pressed two fingers to the man’s neck anyway but his limbs were flaccid, his eyes staring blankly. Hank didn’t need Connor’s fancy analytic scanners to know that one or both of his shots had hit the heart. The man was dead.

And Connor was…

“Shit. Connor…”

Hank stumbled to his knees beside his partner, re-holstering his gun on autopilot.

“Oh Jesus …”

Connor was as still as a corpse, his usually mobile face slack and expressionless, his eyes staring sightlessly. Even his chest was still and Hank realised with a pang of horror that Connor’s breathing simulation, a part of the programming designed to help him integrate more easily with humans, had shut down. Smoke was drifting lazily from the charred, blackened patch on his chest and there was a dreadful smell that seemed to lodge, acrid and nauseating, at the back of Hank’s throat, a toxic miasma of burnt plastic, the metallic reek of overheated circuits, and the hot coppery tang of seared flesh.

“Connor?” He laid a hand on Connor’s chest, desperately trying to feel if his thirium pump was still functioning. “Connor!” Oh god, please don’t let him be… 

A flickering glow caught his eye and he realised Connor’s LED, which had been a steady, solid red, had begun blinking.

“Connor?”

For a long moment there was no response and then Connor blinked once… then twice. His mouth opened but the movement was jerky, wrong. His lips didn’t move but he emitted a high-pitched whine that ended in a burst of static.

“Connor!”

Another blink and Connor’s eyes seemed to slowly, jerkily, focus in on Hank. His jaw twitched spasmodically for a moment and then his lips moved slowly. “Ha-a̷͚͛̾ͅņ̸̜̭̿̑̉k̶̘̝̦̽̋̓ć̴̛̉ͅc̵̖̦̜̝͠ḣ̶̟̿͛͘ḩ̷̎͊̎z̴͉͖̻̖̽z̴̯̿̂-nk” His voice was all wrong, metallic and stuttering, full of static.

Hank’s heart was racing and he had to swallow down the lump of panic in his throat before he could speak. “Jesus Christ, Connor, you scared the shit of me!!”

“S-s-s-s-“ Connor’s head jerked helplessly for a moment as though he was stuck in a feedback loop, “sor-ry…”

Hank was terrified. He’d never seen Connor like this, never been so uncomfortably aware that he was machine and not man. Connor was so very human – by design, Hank reminded himself bitterly – that it was easy to forget what really lay beneath that synthetic skin. Hank’s fear was a hot, tight lump in his chest and, as usual, he pushed it down by getting angry, angry at Connor for putting himself in danger, _again_. “Fuck’s sake, Connor! What the hell were you thinking?!!”

Connor seemed to shiver, a tremor running through his body, but his eyes remained focused on Hank. 

“96% proba-c̸̛̗̯̀͜͠͝c̵̮̖͋̌h̷͍̜̼̥͐h̷̢̝̥̋h̸̠̙͖͐x̵̢̩̣̍̋x̷̻͕̙̏̾̽-bility of the… killer using…. n̸͉̞̏̈́n̷͉͊̃̾̚g̴̟̙̣̼̒g̷̫̟͈̼͗h̶͉̝͛̾͂h̷̨͐̎͆h̷̫̎̾̋ …weapon on… you. 100% pro-b̷̨̩̥͔́ȁ̵̘̹̏̎̾b̸͓̮̤̘̈́i̸̛̠͗͘c̴̡̼̙̅̇͝c̷̠̯̳͓̒̇c̵̳̩̀h̵͓͉͔͋̀͠z̸̞̲̄̐z̶̳̊̔-ity of fatalit-k̴̡̼̦̑ḳ̷͝k̸̖͓̫̾̎͜x̸̮͚̭̠̂̃x̶̰̘͛͊́-y if weapon… used on hu-c̷̻̘̙c̶̡̦̭̎͜c̶̳͕̜͑h̵͖̙͆̃h̶̩̔͑̇m̴̧͙̝͑m̷̻̫̪͙̀ -man…” he intoned mechanically.

Hank shook his head. “Dammit, Connor…”

He was interrupted before his could say more by the sound of footsteps approaching at a run. His hand moved instinctively to his gun but he relaxed as Peterson stumbled to a halt, his expression horrified as he took in the scene. For a furious moment Hank wanted to rage at the kid for not clearing the scene, for letting this happen, but Connor’s vocal processor fizzed out a burst of static and Hank felt the anger drain from him, leaving only the gnawing fear. Chances are if the kid had come across the killer, it’d be his body lying here in the alleyway, as it could so easily have been Hank’s if Connor hadn’t…

“Peterson! Call it in! Get CSI, get the ME and get me CSS down here _NOW_!!”

For a moment Peterson was frozen in place, his face white as a sheet, unable to tear his eyes away from the smoking mess that was Connor’s chest, and Hank felt his anger building again. 

“Peterson!” The kid jumped. “Connor’s hurt bad, get CSS down here on the double!” Peterson nodded shakily, and fumbled his radio from his belt, hurrying back down the alleyway as he radioed in.

Hank turned his attention back to Connor. He hadn’t moved, his body still unnaturally still, his LED flashing red-red-red. A thin stream of thirium had begun to leak from his nose, pooling on his upper lip and trickling down the side of his face. His eyes were unfocused.

“Connor!” That hot lump of fear made Hank’s chest feel tight again. “You still with me, Connor?”

The blink was a long time coming and it seemed to take more effort than before for Connor to focus on Hank.

“How bad is it, son?” Hank wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. The killer had missed the thirium pump regulator but Connor had estimated that a hit anywhere else on an android would “possibly not” be fatal… emphasis on the _possibly_.

Connor’s eyelids flickered, almost like they did when he was communicating wirelessly, and his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “Pow-er… “ he stuttered. “Power cell dam a̵̲̐̒g̴̯͈̠̭͑̎͊́x̵̧͐̀̒͘x̴̬͎͈̌̓̎͛x̵͇̩̮͆̔̚̚ć̶͕͜k̴̺̜̜̔͐̇̅k̶̺̜̞̏̓-aged. Power levels… failing. All systems in… low power mode. Complete… shutdown in 7.24 minutes.”

“Shutdown?! Jesus Christ, Connor! I… you can’t… there’s gotta be something we can do?”

7 minutes. Not enough time. Nowhere near enough time. Hank fought against the flutter of panic in his chest, trying to think… there had to be a way… Think, dammit!!

Power cell damaged. Jesus. Android power cells were built to last for years… decades even… with power levels recharging when the android went into sleep or stasis mode. And now Connor’s was failing and Hank didn’t exactly have a spare to hand…. 

But what if…?

“Connor!” His partner’s eyelids fluttered and he gave a tinny, static-y sigh. 

“Ye-es?”

“Can we jerry-rig something? Hook you up to a, a battery or something? Something to keep you going long enough so we can fix your power cell?” His mind was racing desperately. A battery. Maybe… maybe the battery from his car? Or…

Shit.

He looked over his shoulder at the body of the killer, lying alongside his modified cattle prod… his modified cattle prod that was _powered by a high amperage battery_.

“Connor! What about the battery from the cattle prod? Would that work?”

Connor’s lips barely moved as he spoke. “Poss- i̴̬͇̟͓͆͛̇͝ĭ̵̼i̶̬͒ĭ̴̞̭͖̓̐x̸͈̮̉̄̌x̶̳͚̗͊k̷͔x̶̨̩͌̔̆͠ -ibly.”

Possibly. Hank would take possibly over the alternative. “Okay. Okay.” He scrabbled over to the killer, his earlier hesitation to touch the weapon forgotten. If the damn thing was gonna zap him, it was gonna zap him, he’d take the risk to save Connor. Besides, it wasn’t the weapon itself he needed… it was the battery that powered it.

“How long, Connor?” He took a closer look at the cattle prod. It was a nasty looking thing, two pointed metal prongs at one end of the long pole, and the other end wrapped heavily in electrical tape, from which protruded a thin, tape-wrapped bundle of cabling that coiled on the ground and snaked under the killer’s body.

“5.64 min-min-min-utes.” Connor’s head jerked helplessly. The synthetic skin on his face was starting to fluctuate, patches of white plasteel shining through in rolling waves.

Shit. Shitshitshit. He rolled the killer’s body roughly to the side, following the cabling up to where it disappeared into a bulky rucksack strapped to the man’s back. His fingers shaking with his haste, Hank unzipped the bag and pulled it open. A heavy duty battery sat at the bottom of the bag, the tape-wrapped bundle of cabling splitting into two separate cables, each one connected to one of the battery’s terminals. Reaching in, Hank grabbed hold of a terminal cap and quickly loosened it. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before grabbing hold of the cable and carefully unwrapping the bare wire from the terminal. Nothing fizzed, nothing zapped. He wasn’t dead. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding and repeated the process on the other terminal.

With the cabling disconnected, he manhandled the heavy battery out of the bag and laid it on the ground, pushing it ahead of him as he scrabbled on hands and knees back to Connor’s side. 

“Okay I got it, what now?” he asked breathlessly.

“I-I-I…” Connor’s LED dimmed alarmingly as he stuttered mechanically. “I… can’t move…” he groaned.

Shit. “Okay, okay… just… just tell me what to do…” Hank pushed Connor’s jacket open and stripped off his tie. Grabbing hold of the collars of his shirt, he ripped it open, buttons be damned, and bared Connor’s chest. 

“Fuck…” he whispered. Connor was a mess. His synthetic skin was glitching all over his chest, patches of skin appearing and disappearing in random blotches and ripples across the smooth white plasteel of his torso. On the right side of his chest, about level with his heart, the plasteel was charred and melted around a ragged hole through which Hank could see a blackened mess of components, some of them flickering and sparking fitfully, and a dull bluish-glow that pulsed unevenly. 

“What do I do?” he asked helplessly.

“T-t-t-top of ster-n̷̝̳̈̆n̴̰̙͉͔̽̈́͒͌n̷̗̣̯̯̒͛̋͝n̴̤̹̆n̷͔͍͑̂k̷͇͚̘͌̍k̶̛͓̘͇͓̎x̴̤͌̄̂͋-num,” Connor jittered, his voice bursting with static, “in between col-l̸͕̻̖͊l̶̤̯̖̎̂̚͘ͅḻ̵̳̮͕̑̍̏c̴̜͓͇͋̏̋̌ḩ̷̦̹͑̓̅̚͜h̸͖̰̩̩̏h̸͉̮́-lar bones. Small inden-t-t-t-t-tation. Press firm-l̵̢̛̯̒̊l̴̛͓l̸̲̫̓̔̃x̷̱͌c̴̟̠̮͔̄̎č̸̌̍̕͜ͅk̵͉̒͌̔-ly.”

Hank fumbled for the spot Connor described, trying to stop his hands from shaking as he reached for the base of Connor’s throat, his fingers finding the small dip in the plasteel and pressing down. With a hiss and a click, the plasteel under his fingers gave way, a panel that made up most of Connor’s upper chest retracting into the cavity below and, with a bit of a push from Hank, sliding under the panels that made up his upper abdomen. Hank swallowed. He could see Connor’s thirium pump – his heart – its blue glow throbbing fitfully. And he could see a whole mess of circuitry and wiring and biocomponents, many of them charred and smoking, that he was absolutely certain he had no business trying to mess with. For chrissakes he could barely even work his own phone, how the hell was he going to fix a state of the art prototype goddamn android?!

But he had to. Because if he didn’t, Connor was going to shut down. In..

“How long, Connor?”

“3.12 min-nnnnnn-utes.”

Shit. “Okay, what next?”

“Find… pow-ę̵̛̾̐e̶̪̪͎̿e̶̠͔̫͆̌k̶̙̈́̄̈͠ḳ̸̗̻̠̇͌͒̈́k̸̪͖͛͘͝x̷̧͚̆̚̕-er cell. Rectangular m-m-m-module. 4.7cm by… c̷̭̖̆͒͠c̷̪̖̺͂h̸̛̥̜̲̰h̵̨͕̅̋̈́͜ͅh̸̤̩͖̰͋̅h̸͎͛͛͐k̴̓̄͜k̷͍̼̾ḱ̵̨̩͇̓͋̋x̷̜̚x̴̢̢̭͔͐̍͑k̶͇̝̙̎̓̀ …3.6cm b-b-b-by 1.5cm. White. Rear of thoracic cav-i̷͚̱͊̈͛t̵̜̱͖͖̏͝ţ̶̤̟̎̓͝ͅt̷̹̬͖̆ţ̸̰̓̑t̷͉͠x̴͚̲̐x̵̭͆-ity, right s-s-s-side.” Connor’s eyes were unfocused, staring up at the narrow strip of sky above. 

“Okay,” With a reluctant grimace, Hank reached gingerly into Connor’s chest, trying to be as careful as possible as he slipped his hand through the jumble of wires and components, looking for anything that looked and felt like what Connor described. It was hard to see what he was doing and he cringed as he fingers brushed into something wet and cold. 

“Uh… there’s… there’s a lot of thirium in here, Connor…” A thin piece of cabling snagged on his finger, pulling taught, and Connor gave a high-pitched discordant squeal, his white-blotched face twisting in pain.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

“Thir… thirium conduits da-amaged.” Connor reported, his voice buzzing and crackling. “Thirium pres-s̵̡̻̼̎͐̔͝ş̶̔s̴͉̿̑s̸̠͍̾͋͘-sure 81%... and falling.”

“Ah jeez.” 

Hank’s fingers found the edges of what felt like a small box like Connor had described.

“I think I got it!” He carefully nudged the surrounding circuitry to one side until he could get a better view of it. “Okay, yeah.”

“M-m-m-m-m-“ Connor’s head twitched helplessly, his voice stuttering and breaking.

“Connor?”

“M-m-m-m-m-m-m-“

Panic blossomed, hot and tight, in Hank’s chest. No, please… come on, he was so close..

“Connor! Stay with me, Connor!” 

Connor’s jerking, tic-like movement stopped and he let out a burst of static.

“Come on, son, just a little longer!”

“M-m-metal… plate… left side… pow-e̷̗͚͗̇͌̌r̵̲͇̽͛r̶̖͛̃̉̉r̸̰̉̃͑̇͜ȑ̷̲͕̳͛̀͠ř̵̗̭͜r̵͚̜̐̕-er cell…” Connor’s lips had stopped moving when he spoke, his face unnaturally still, ripples and blotches of white and skin colour chasing themselves across his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. Hank’s panic spiked. He was shutting down, one system at a time. 

Hank felt around the left side of the box, his heart hammering in his chest, and found the small flat piece of metal.

“Got it.”

“Att-t-t-t-t… att-ach… bat-tery to m-m-m-m-etal plate.”

Attach battery. Shit. Cables. He was gonna need the cables. 

He pulled his hands from Connor’s chest, his stomach churning at the slippery coating of thirium staining his skin. He wiped them roughly on his pants and half turned to grab the discarded cattle prod. It was harmless now, disconnected from the battery, but he needed the cables that dangled from the tape-wrapped handle.

Fumbling in his pocket he pulled out his pocket knife and opened up the blade. The tape was wrapped thickly and he cursed as he worked the knife into it, slicing down and down through the layers until he felt the blade hit a solid surface beneath. There was no time for finesse and he dropped the knife to one side and dug his blunt fingernails under the edges of the cut, pulling it apart, peeling away the tape wrapping, looking for the wiring beneath.

He was panting now, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps, desperation making him tremble. He wanted to ask Connor how much time was left but the answer wouldn’t help either way… and he was terrified he’d get no answer at all. Just… fast… do it as fast as you can.

He almost sobbed in relief when he found where the bare wires were threaded around the jerry-rigged components of the cattle prod. He didn’t waste time trying to unwind them, he simply grabbed his knife and, with a grunt of effort, cut through the wires, severing them from the cattle prod.

He turned back to Connor, almost dreading what he might find, but he was hanging on… barely. His LED was still flashing red, but slowly, his eyes staring sightlessly, his face and exposed chest mostly white now as his synthethic skin fizzled and failed.

His fingers shaking with tension, Hank pushed the cables into Connor’s chest cavity, feeling around for the metal plate. It wasn’t designed to have an external power source connected to it, of course, so Hank did the best he could, wrapping the exposed wires around the plate as tightly as possible, hoping to god that they’d hold.

When he sat back, Connor’s LED was stuttering, its flashing intermittent, the pulse of red light fading and flickering.

“Hang on, Connor. Just hang on!”

Hank wrapped one wire around a terminal on the battery and quickly screwed the cap down enough to hold it in place. This was it. Sink or swim. Do or die. Holding his breath, he touched the other wire to the second terminal.

The response was immediate; Connor jerked violently, letting out a burst of squealing feedback that made Hank wince, and his whole body twitched and spasmed, as though he were having a seizure. His LED flashed bright red, cycling rapidly and unevenly. 

Holding the wire in contact, Hank carefully screwed down the cap, pinning it in place, as Connor continued to shudder helplessly.

And then, abruptly, the screeching sound cut out and Connor’s face twisted in pain, his synthetic skin flowing back into place.

“Connor?” 

Connor blinked, screwed his eyes shut, and opened them again. Thirium was leaking from his ears. His eyes rolled wildly, seemingly unable to focus, and then, with a grunt of effort, he turned his head slightly and his gaze focused in on Hank.

“Ha—nk” His lips moved when he spoke, though his voice still sounded tinny and metallic.

“Jesus Christ, kid, don’t ever do that to me again!” Hank slumped in relief, sitting back on the dirty alley floor and scrubbing a hand over his face, a feeling of dizziness washing over him.

“S-s-sorry.” Connor’s expression was pinched, his brow furrowed into a frown. He groaned - a hollow, buzzing sound.

Hank’s stomach churned and he sat up straighter, pushing aside his fatigue.

“You okay?” He asked gruffly. “Well, other than…” he waved a hand that encompassed Connor’s exposed chest cavity, wires trailing into the blackened, sparking interior.

Connor grimaced. “Hurrrrts…” he rasped hollowly.

Hank frowned. “The battery?” he asked.

Connor nodded jerkily. “Amperage too high… feels like… burns…”

Shit. Deviancy had come with a whole host of surprising side-effects for androids as their newly awakened consciousness adapted to interpreting the sensory input from their synthetic nervous system and many of them, Connor included, had found that sensory input regarding damage to their components had started to register as a pain-like sensation in the affected area. Hank supposed it was a lucky side-effect that Connor’s falling power levels after the attack must have shut down his sensory system before he could really become aware of the pain of his injuries. But now he wasn’t running on empty, some of his systems were powering back up and unfortunately that was one of them.

Reaching out, Hank took Connor’s hand in his own, giving it a squeeze, surprised and relieved to feel Connor squeeze back.

“Ah shit. Sorry, son. But it’s only temporary. We’re gonna get you fixed up.”

He nodded at the charred mess that was Connor’s chest. “How you holding up?”

Connor’s eyes unfocused for a moment and he gave a shuddering sigh. “External power source is… sufficient… to keep vital systems powered for… 1.52 hours… before… high amperage causes… thirium pump to burn out.”

Jesus. Hank’s jerry-rigged solution was burning the kid up from the inside out. But 1.5 hours was a lot better than 7 minutes. It was enough time for CSS to fix him.

Connor grimaced, his back arching, and shuddered.

“Hey, hey! Try and stay still,” Hank growled, gritting his teeth as Connor squeezed his hand. “I did my best but that connection,” he nodded at Connor’s chest, “ain’t exactly the most secure.”

“Suh-sorry…” Connor’s hand trembled in his. He was shivering, trying to ride out the pain. Hank held on tight. 

“Got nothing to be sorry for, Connor,” he muttered. “Well, apart from putting yourself in danger, again. When you ever gonna start listening to what I tell you to do?” he grumbled.

Connor smiled thinly, pain pulling his lips tight. “Sorry, Lieutenant.” There was less static in his voice now.

“Stop apologising,” Hank ordered gruffly.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor agreed and Hank scowled to hide his smile.

“And stop being a smart ass.”

“Nggghhh…” Connor’s hand tightened around his, his eyes screwing shut as he shivered through another wave of pain. Hank grimaced. God dammit, what the hell was taking CSS so long?

“Hank…” Connor’s eyes were still closed, his teeth gritted.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Hank patted his hand awkwardly. “Any time, partner. Any time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to the awesome whumpers on the Discord chat for helping me brainstorm a title for this fic when I was totally stuck! :D


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